


one day two nights

by wallakihyun



Series: kiho bingo 2017 [1]
Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, KiHo Bingo, M/M, School Trip, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, rapid relationship development l o l
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 14:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11163381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallakihyun/pseuds/wallakihyun
Summary: And god, Wonho can’t stop staring at Kihyun, either, watching him, drinking him in.or: the senior school trip au that no one asked for





	one day two nights

**Author's Note:**

> this all started with sleeveless kihyun on a bed in montories 
> 
> high school/university square for my kiho bingo card!

 

It takes Wonho about ten seconds to figure out that there’s something wrong with his room assignment. Or rather, as he peers over Minhyuk’s shoulder and tugs at the hem of his hoodie to hold him down, to realize that the room number on Minhyuk’s card is different. From his. Which is a problem, because Minhyuk is supposed to be _his_ roommate.

 

 

He frowns and pokes the small of Minhyuk’s back, pressing in closer to make sure he can be heard over the commotion of the crowded hotel lobby. “Hey,” he says, but it’s more of like a shout–whisper. “Minhyuk.”

 

Minhyuk jumps a few inches and turns away from the boy he was talking to—Changwook? Changkyun?—to face Wonho. “What are you _doing_ , Wonho,” he replies, his face twisted into a grimace, but chirpy nonetheless. Which is so typically Minhyuk, Wonho thinks. He’d make anger chirpy. Hell, he’d make brutal murder chirpy.

 

 

Wonho adjusts his—extremely weather-inappropriate, as he now realizes—leather jacket across his shoulders. It’s cold. Both outside and in the lobby, where recycled air blasts through the ACs across the expanse of fake wood made to look cozy. _So much for a spring trip,_ he thinks. The seaside town is even colder now than their Seoul suburb was at the beginning of March.

 

 

“I thought we were supposed to be roommates?” It comes out more whiny than he’d like.

 

 

Minhyuk laughs. “My needy friend,” he teases. “I was just talking with Changkyun about that. Hyunwoo had to bail because of a fever and they–” he points to Changkyun, one of the trip committee members, who nods gravely–“had to make some room rearrangements. So. I’m rooming with Changkyun now!” Minhyuk’s signature grin is back on his face and he runs a hand through his dark hair, mussed up from its confinement under the black hood during the bus ride. (It’s Wonho’s hoodie, actually. Minhyuk is perpetually underprepared for the weather, so much that he had showed up to the bus station in a flimsy white shirt. It’s a damn expensive hoodie and not something he’d trust _Minhyuk_ with, really, but Minhyuk had tugged it out of his backpack and hugged it against with body with that expression that made him look, very vaguely, like a puppy. Wonho didn’t have a chance to say no, and if he thinks about it, he isn’t sure he would have even when given the option. He’s weak. Only a little.)

 

 

Wonho recognizes Minhyuk’s fidgeting as an apologetic gesture—he knows him well enough, after nearly three years of shared commiseration and occasional mischief.

 

 

“I’m not _needy,_ ” Wonho retorts. “You just ruined my careful planning and painstaking efforts.” He leaves a hint dangling in the air. Smirks a little when Minhyuk’s eyes widen, because Minhyuk _knows_ there’s only one thing he could mean by those efforts.

 

 

“Well it’s not _my_ fault, you know. But,” he leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “Is it the booze because oh god your roommate is fucking _lucky_ and you’d better let me in too I’ll bring Changkyun–”

 

 

“Shhh,” Wonho interrupts, snickering. “Stop, someone’s gonna hear.”

 

 

“Realistically, Wonho, no one’s going to care except the teacher and maybe Kihyun.”

 

 

Kihyun is their class president. Wonho doesn’t know him well, really, but he’s seen enough to be able to imagine Kihyun’s grimace at the sight of the green bottles, can imagine his uptight voice calling Wonho a disgraceful degenerate. And maybe he’s being unfair, really, Wonho doesn’t _actually_ know the kid. But his overwhelming memory of Kihyun is the one time in second year when he mouthed off at Jooheon for smoking at one of the third–floor windows during a break. Wonho had watched him curiously, how he cited school regulations from memory, his _if you’re going to smoke_ at least _do it outside the building Jooheon,_ but also the way he didn’t tell any teachers and even warned Jooheon when a teacher was dangerously close to walking by the second–year classrooms.

 

 

Wonho shakes that thought off in favor of indulging in Minhyuk’s giddiness. Changkyun is enveloped into their circle, and they conspire under the noise of dozens of students, their plans getting more outlandish every suggestion. (Minhyuk is dead set on pregaming with Wonho’s supply and breaking out in the middle of the night to sneak into a bar in town.) There’s something seductive about doing these forbidden things, a thrill to their final acts of childish rebellion before they graduate. Wonho knows they’re probably just going to end up on the balcony of his hotel room, with pilfered cheap soju and a sort of pathetic drunkenness, but it’s exciting—achingly so, because it’s their last time, probably—all the same. He smiles.

 

 

 

\--------------

 

 

 

Um. So. Wonho stands inside the doorway rather awkwardly, staring at the boy who appears to be his roommate shuffling around the room. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Wonho enter yet, this boy, too busy with unpacking and fumbling around with some bottles on the dresser. But Wonho’s stomach drops a little when he turns his head, leaning down to his suitcase. It takes him a second to recognize the light brown hair falling across his eyebrows and the frown that pulls his lips into a pout, disrupts the smooth skin of his forehead. Kihyun. Which, as Minhyuk’s “ _and maybe Kihyun”_ rings in his ear, Wonho realizes is not exactly ideal for the plans he has.

 

 

“Uh.” Wonho starts. “Hey, Kihyun.” There’s a hint of uncertainty is his usually smooth voice, and it bothers him for some reason.

 

 

Kihyun looks up then, gives Wonho a once-over that make him tense up, and then nods. “Oh. Hey, Wonho. I guess we’re rooming together?”

 

 

It’s polite and relaxed, but as Wonho pushes the door shut and tugs his suitcase across the carpet of the hotel room, he can’t help but be painfully aware of the distance between him and Kihyun. Kihyun doesn’t seem bothered at all—he continues with his rummaging and organizing of what Wonho now sees are cosmetics. Wonho is, well, _chill,_ charismatic (if he does say so himself), has an easy rapport with most of their classmates. But he’s never had more than acquaintance–level exchange with Kihyun before, in their three years in high school. There’s no particular reason for it, and it shouldn’t really be bothering him _now,_ in the April of their senior year, a few weeks before graduation, but there’s a certain awkwardness that nags at him.

 

 

“I guess so,” he responds easily, laughs a little to take the edge off the tension. That only exists for him, because Kihyun is humming, oblivious.

 

 

Wonho is just being stupid and sensitive and overthinking everything. This is the most correct conclusion, he decides, and fishes for his phone in his jacket pocket to text Minhyuk about the turn of events. Unpacking can wait.

 

 

\---

 

 

Minhyuk is at their door by eleven, Changkyun in tow. He’d just sent a string of “ _lolololol_ ” when Wonho had informed him of the identity of his roommate, followed by “ _kihyun? ok we can deal with that. easy money man don’t worry i’ll handle it i know him._ ” Wonho really hopes so, because getting reported for having alcohol is not really his idea of a fun night.

 

 

Minhyuk bounds in as soon as Wonho opens the door. He’s gotten rid of the hoodie in favor of an oversized school festival shirt, and Wonho makes a mental note to ask for his hoodie back at some point. There’s no trusting Minhyuk with clothing.

 

 

Changkyun shuffles in a few moments later, waving at Wonho. “Kihyun, my man!” Minhyuk has already begun his work, edging closer to where Kihyun is sprawled across his bed, clad in a gray hoodie and sweats. Kihyun looks up from his phone and takes out a single earbud.

 

 

“Oh no. Minhyuk,” he groans a little, exasperation tinging his voice. “What now? What are you up to _now_ in the middle of the night?”

 

 

“You’re always assuming I’m doing something that’ll get me in trouble.” Minhyuk sits down on the edge of Kihyun’s mattress and leans toward him, signature grin locked on his face.

 

 

Kihyun shoves him weakly and glances at Wonho, as if to say _why would you invite_ him _in._ “Am I wrong?”

 

 

“Nope.” Minhyuk laughs. “You’re completely fucking right.”

 

 

Kihyun sighs. “Oh no. Of course. What is it? Just tell me, you idiot.”

 

 

“Well,” Minhyuk drawls. “You see. Wonho the absolute fucking _man_ here went through a lot of effort to make sure we have a fun night here. Together. Happy.”

 

 

Kihyun looks at Wonho again, and Wonho smiles weakly and shrugs. “And that means?”

 

 

“Really, Kihyun,” Minhyuk continues, “You shouldn’t let his hard work go to waste. It’s troublesome to sneak in that many bottles of soju, you know?”

 

 

“Oh _hell_ no,” Kihyun groans, sinking back into one of the many pillows strewn across the sheets. He lifts his head and glares at them all, one by one. “Of course. Of course you all would. This is _such_ a headache,” he sighs. “At least you could have the decency to not drink in my room.”

 

 

“Soju bottles are sort of conspicuous when you try to carry them to the other end of the hall, and our room is right next to the teacher’s, Kihyun,” Minhyuk points out.

 

 

“Yes,” Kihyun responds. “You know why there’s no teacher on _this_ side of the floor? Because I’m supposed to be responsible here. As the class president. But you want to drink right under my nose?”

 

 

“Yes. Because. You love me,” Minhyuk wheedles, changing gears.

 

 

“No I don’t. I should actually report you just for suggesting that.”

 

 

“Don’t worry, Kihyun, you can drink some too if you want—there’s no need to be jealous of people who actually have _fun._ ”

 

 

“Minhyuk, I already said, I’m the _class president–_ ”

 

 

“And I’m your favorite classmate.”

 

 

“It’s a stupid idea.”

 

 

“It’s a totally _fun_ idea.”

 

 

Wonho and Changkyun are left to watch them go back and forth, retorts and thinly veiled insults thrown with ease. Wonho knows Minhyuk well enough to realize that this is a losing battle for Kihyun. He will tire out eventually, give into Minhyuk’s annoying insistence. But those weird pangs of awkwardness are back, because he recognizes the ease between them, how Kihyun frowns and shoves Minhyuk’s head off his pillow and how Minhyuk condescendingly pats Kihyun’s hair, as a well–established friendship. And it only serves to highlight the lack of relationship between Wonho and Kihyun, that disconnect that he can’t figure out, really, that disconnect that bothers him. For whatever reason. He feels out of the loop, a little—out of some sort of Kihyun loop (even Changkyun laughs and joins in on urging Kihyun), and it’s weird. Wonho is weird, maybe, probably.

 

 

\---

 

 

It’s nearly one a.m. and almost all of Wonho’s preciously hoarded bottles are empty. Which wasn’t a huge amount to begin with, really, so they’re all more tipsy–maybe–borderline–drunk than _actually_ drunk. Except for Kihyun, who has been coaxed to sit with them on the floor and reluctantly join the conversation, but not drink. He had finally surrendered to Minhyuk’s relentless coaxing after about ten minutes, under the condition that if caught, Kihyun would bear no blame. It had been fun, light teasing and stupid remarks about anything and everything.

 

 

Minhyuk and Changkyun are engaged with a game on one of their phones now, Minhyuk letting out high-pitched squawks and shouts occasionally, and Wonho stares out the window. Sadly. Because it’s sad, that he can’t sit out there on the balcony instead. They’d tried for about thirty seconds, but the cold had them jumping back inside, teeth chattering. Sad.

 

 

And then he turns to look at Kihyun, scrolling through some sort of social media on his phone next to Wonho. That’s sad, too, a little.

 

 

“Hey,” Wonho starts, tapping Kihyun’s arm. Kihyun turns halfway to look at him, nodding. “Wanna drink?” He holds out a dixie cup.

 

 

“I already said no, Wonho. And that’s your cup,” Kihyun points out.

 

 

Wonho stares at it. “Huh. You’re right,” he shrugs. It’s also empty, so he sets it on the floor gingerly.

 

 

Kihyun shakes his head. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

 

 

“Only a little,” Wonho counters. And then there’s an awkward pause, and Wonho feels this pressing need to force the conversation further, so he goes with: “What are you doing on your phone?”

 

 

“Oh. This?” Kihyun waves the phone in his hand a little. “Just, Instagram. I edited and posted some photos from the trip here, and now I’m scrolling my feed.”

 

 

“You have an Instagram?” Wonho questions. And he’s not sure why Kihyun wouldn’t, really, but it somehow comes as a surprise to him. Maybe because he’s never _thought_ of Kihyun before, outside of his role in their classroom and more than an acquaintance limited to school hours.

 

 

“Um. Yeah?” Kihyun responds. “I, I post photography and stuff. Photos I take. Nothing special?”

 

 

“Oh.” Wonho ponders this. “Can I see?”

 

 

So Kihyun gives him his username, and Wonho digs out his phone and opens the app. He hits follow immediately, and he’s both pleased with himself and a little awkward. Pleased, because this cements at least some sort of relationship, and awkward because they haven’t _really_ talked, and here he is in the act of cementing some sort of relationship.

 

 

But those thoughts are pushed aside once he scrolls, because _wow,_ wow. Kihyun—Kihyun’s _good._ The photos are beautiful, and there’s this one of a sunset that has Wonho feeling stupidly emotional for about ten seconds. “You’re, like, really amazing, fuck,” he mutters eloquently as he scrolls down further.

 

 

Kihyun laughs. “That’s an overstatement. It’s just whatever. I do it in my free time, it’s just sort of fun and relieves stress.”

 

 

Wonho threateningly wags a finger at Kihyun. “Don’t,” he warns, “Don’t insult this art, Kihyun. I could and would write songs inspired by some of these, you know.”

 

 

Kihyun almost snorts at that. “Oh my god, of course. Of course you would write lyrics inspired by random photos.”

 

 

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

 

 

“I don’t know, you’re just—that artsy type, aren’t you? You lead the art club and you probably listen to alternative music and run in hipster internet corners. You’re into sophisticated shit. Just typically cheesy, writing lyrics to something like this.”

 

 

“Okay, come _on_ ,” Wonho huffs, but Kihyun isn’t wrong, really. “It’s not a hipster internet corner, it’s an art tumblr, and so what if I like,” he waves his hand in the air, “ _sophisticated_ things?”

 

 

“Nothing,” Kihyun says. “But cheesy. Maybe a little pretentious. Still.”

 

 

“Ugh. Okay, but this photo is still great, Mr. I-Don’t-Understand-Art.”

 

 

Kihyun laughs again, and Wonho decided he quite likes the sound. “Thanks, I guess, Mr. Hipster.”

 

 

They’re silent for a few moments, but it’s more companionable than awkward. Wonho continues scrolling, pausing appreciatively at the photos he likes. He might be fifty weeks down Kihyun’s feed, but hell—he’s going to tap the posts anyways. _Take all my hearts,_ he says to the photo of cherry blossom trees next to the Han river. “Is this–is this something you’re gonna do?” It’s a pleasant surprise. That the perpetually stressed, uptight, academics-focused Kihyun that Wonho thought he knew has a hobby like this.

 

 

“What does that mean?” Kihyun looks up from his phone again, eyes sleepy, a hint of his previous laughter still on his lips.

 

 

“You know. As a career. You’re good, you’re _talented_.”

 

 

“Ah. I mean, thanks,” Kihyun adds, “But. But no, not really. It’s just a hobby, you know? I don’t think I’m confident enough to ever pursue it. And it would mean all these years of effort, academic effort, the chance for success. Gone to waste.” Wonho sees his light smile turn into a frown. “Shit. Sorry, I’m sleepy. It’s just… It’s just,” Kihyun laughs a little again. “Important to be realistic, I guess.”

 

 

“Oh.” And Wonho can’t protest, really, urge him to _follow his passion_ or whatever bullshit, because there’s something there that resonates with him. Not defeat, or unhappiness, but the sort of passive acceptance that Kihyun calls realism. “I get that. I mean, you can call me hipster whatever but,” he glances over at Kihyun, “I’m actually going to be studying political science in uni. So yeah, realism, I understand.”

 

 

“Mm.” And then Kihyun adds, “Which uni?” almost as an afterthought. “I know I checked the list that was posted on Facebook, but I can’t remember.”

 

 

“Yonsei.”

 

 

Kihyun whistles. “Wow. You did well on your entrance exams, then.”

 

 

“Well, I’ve always done well in school, Kihyun,” Wonho reminds him. “I was ranked second to you in the social subjects most of the time. If you remember. Just a little bad at math and all that. I didn’t just smoke with Jooheon or whatever you think and run the _hipster_ art club.”

 

 

“I remember,” Kihyun affirms, and that pleases Wonho in some sort of way that he can’t really put a name to. “I was always sort of jealous, you know.” He admits wistfully. “That you were a lowkey delinquent but still did that well.”

 

 

That pleases Wonho even more, a grin stretching across his face. “Self-important class president Yoo Kihyun jealous of me? Who would’ve thought.”

 

 

“Oh, please,” Kihyun rolls his eyes. “I’m not jealous of your hipster ass, just what I said. And I’ll have you know I got into Seoul National, so. _I_ am still winning here.”

 

 

Wonho rolls his eyes back at him, but there’s nothing bitter in it. “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

 

 

Kihyun punches him lightly, and Wonho continues. “And what are _you_ gonna be studying there?”

 

 

“Economics.” Kihyun’s answer is curt, and he shrugs at Wonho’s probing glance. “Eh. You know. Realism. I’ll land a good job and my parents will be happy and I’ll take some pictures in the meantime when I want to. I don’t really want anything big, you know. Studying is… fine. It’s comfortable.”

 

 

He nods. And Wonho doesn’t mean to be cheesy, but there’s something about the way Kihyun says that, the way his expression is both wistful, and wise, calm, that makes him want to stare at Kihyun for hours, days. Reveling in the warmth of this discovery, the heady feeling that talking with an unguarded Kihyun gives him. The easy, nonchalant maturity in the exasperated overachiever. Wonho likes it.

 

 

Wonho is also sort of drunk, so he blacks out before much more happens.

 

 

 

\--------------

 

 

 

 

The next day is warmer, thankfully. They’re allowed a vague extent of freedom—the town is theirs to roam after breakfast, with the condition that they’re back in the hotel by seven p.m. sharp. Kihyun has even vaguer instructions from the teacher to try to make sure nothing happens, so he spends most of the day wandering from the boardwalk to the rides to the town square to the beach, trying to supervise (not that he really understands how that’s supposed to work, but as long as no one gets hurt, he guesses) but mostly just joining in in whatever his friends are doing at each location. It bothers him that he can’t be fully engaged in anything, and he especially eyes the classmates who dare to venture into the still-cool water, but whatever. Duties.

 

 

 

Minhyuk finds him around five in the afternoon, when the weather has taken a dip and the wind rattles Kihyun’s frame.

 

 

“Hey,” he says, snaking an arm around Kihyun’s shoulder from the back as he walks along the boardwalk, earphones plugged in.

 

 

“Jesus,” Kihyun jumps. “Minhyuk what the fuck, you scared me.” He tugs at the wire of his earphones and bunches them up in his hand. Turns around and tries to glare at Minhyuk, too, but the chattering teeth sort of ruin the effect he was going for.

 

 

Minhyuk barks out a laugh. “Oh my god,” he gestures toward Kihyun’s shivering figure, “you look like an idiot.” Coming from the guy who is hugging his jacket across his chest, shivering a little himself through his grin. Kihyun isn’t impressed, and is about to let Minhyuk know when he presses on. “Want my hoodie?”

 

 

There’s a black hoodie that Minhyuk pulls out of his bag then (Kihyun is sure Minhyuk only has it in order to lug around his contraband without calling attention), and, well. It looks soft and nice, and Kihyun might be rethinking the insult on the tip of his tongue.

 

 

And then Minhyuk is holding out to him, and it _is_ really cold and maybe it would be nice if his teeth weren’t chattering at all times, so he grabs it and tugs it on. Grunts in gratitude and nods at Minhyuk.

 

 

Minhyuk steers him away from the boardwalk—they should eat in town, he says—and talks a mile a minute into Kihyun’s ear. Kihyun reciprocates, even. Minhyuk isn’t so bad, really. Their bickering is comfortable and mutual, and Kihyun is as relaxed as he’s ever been as he insults Minhyuk’s sloppy eating habits at the chicken shop Kihyun insists on.

 

 

“Shut up,” Minhyuk growls around his drumstick, “you’re the one who made us eat chicken when we’re at the fucking seaside. This is blasphemy. An _insult_ ,” he shakes his head.

 

 

“I hate seafood, so,” Kihyun responds. “This is what you get.”

 

 

“You’re disgusting. This friendship is over,” Minhyuk declares.

 

 

“Oh really? Who was the one kissing my ass last night to get drunk?”

 

 

\---

 

 

They’re back out near the beach by six. Jooheon had joined them after they left the chicken shop—coming out of the _seafood restaurant_ next door, Minhyuk had pointed out—and they walk together now, pushing and shoving a bit.

 

 

There’s a group of their classmates on the shore, darting in and out of the water, talking and shouting (shouting, mostly, Kihyun notes. The water’s gotten colder). He realizes with a jolt that Wonho, his roommate, is among them. He’s coming out of the water now, wet and dripping and laughing with a shiver–induced hysteria. Kihyun shivers himself even though he’s still enveloped in the warmth of the cozy restaurant and the food in his belly. But it’s not induced by the cold so much as the way Wonho absentmindedly runs a hand through his damp hair, the movement and the exposed muscles of his arm incredibly distracting. And his bare torso, where water is still running down the ridges and curves and planes of his well-defined body. And he’s not sure why he’s noticing all of this now, why it’s bothering him so, but there’s something about Wonho that’s just… distracting. Very distracting.

 

 

“You’re staring at Wonho.”

 

 

Kihyun tears his eyes away to look back at Minhyuk, who stares curiously.  Jooheon is a few steps ahead of them already. Kihyun hadn’t noticed that he’d stopped—stopped to _gawk at Wonho,_ and fuck. That’s embarrassing.

 

 

Minhyuk’s mouth twists into a devious smile. “He’s very pretty, isn’t he,” he says knowingly. “All the girls have been going crazy over him all day, you know. He likes it too. Been down there shirtless for, what, four hours now?”

 

 

Kihyun snorts through his embarrassment. “I don’t know and I don’t care about the—the pretty,” he says. Speeds up to catch up with Jooheon.

 

 

“Sure you don’t.” There’s that knowing, almost taunting tone again. “But you got along pretty well last night didn’t you? I don’t really remember that much, but,” Minhyuk huffs as he jogs up along Kihyun, “you seemed really chill with him, you know? You were laughing and even giggling and he was, too. I even saw him looking at you like that.”

 

 

“Like what?”

 

 

“I don’t know, really–just how Wonho gets, you know. Mushy, a little.”

 

 

Kihyun laughs, because that’s a perfect description of the boy. The boy Wonho was last night, the pretentious romantic who wasn’t one, really. Something that surprised him, but intrigued him even more. Soft but rough around the edges, smart with a flair for the rebellious, cheesy but levelheaded, that’s Wonho. That Wonho is—is interesting to Kihyun. That Wonho… is also very pretty, no matter how much he denies it to Minhyuk. And, and. Kihyun is being very soppy, needlessly fixated about this whole ghost of a relationship and one solid encounter that they’ve had. Needlessly fixated, for someone who has been numbed and tired to the bone for a long, long time, of this whole school thing. And Wonho is part of that whole school thing, and Kihyun is leaving in just a few weeks, and there’s no need to be needlessly, abruptly, intensely fixated. At all.

 

 

“See, you do know.” Minhyuk hums. “Pity though.”

 

 

“What is?”

 

 

“We graduate in a couple of weeks and—hey, Jooheon,” Minhyuk demands abruptly. “What is it that I see?”

 

 

Jooheon has a pack of cigarettes in his right hand, and a lighter that he’s fishing out of his pocket with the other. He grins, a little nervously as he glances at Kihyun. “You know.”

 

 

Minhyuk looks at Kihyun too, and punches his arm. “Lighten up, straightedge fucker.”

 

 

And because this is Minhyuk, the Minhyuk who never gives up and also has no sense of any potential danger to his own life, he proceeds to nag Kihyun to join in on their _debauchery_ as well.

 

 

Calling it that, debauchery, isn’t fair, probably. Kihyun isn’t a prude and he isn’t oblivious. He knows that half the guys in their class smoke at least occasionally—and drink that much, too. It’s just, he doesn’t do that. Or he didn’t do that. Maybe it’s something about how light he feels, in the wind, on this trip, how he’s been accepted to uni already and there’s no real point other than habit in being a stickler for rules, but he finds himself sighing in defeat. “Fuck, sure, why not,” he responds to Minhyuk’s prodding.

 

 

Minhyuk’s eyes widen a little, but he’s back to a smile in a split second. “Wow, okay, I didn’t expect that, actually.”

 

 

Jooheon looks similarly shocked, and Kihyun smiles and shrugs. It’s understandable. He’s been nagging at them for smoking throughout their entire high school careers.

 

 

 

 

“Okay,” Jooheon says, all business as he hands Kihyun a cigarette. Jooheon and Minhyuk are sitting on a bench next to some greenery as Kihyun stands in front of them. Minhyuk is incredibly amused, annoyingly so, in Kihyun’s opinion. _I wish I could film this,_ he had hinted as they walked toward the bench, but Kihyun shut that down immediately. “Hold it between your index finger and middle finger. Yep, like that.”

 

 

Easy enough. Kihyun examines the cigarette in his hand, then lifts it to his mouth. “Like this?”

 

 

“The side with the filter to your lips. That’s good. Now take this,” he hands his lighter to Kihyun’s outstretched hand, “bring it to the tip of the cigarette. Don’t inhale, just—sort of suck in, while you’re lighting,” Jooheon instructs.

 

 

Okay. Okay. Kihyun can do this. Suck in, light the tip, and—

 

 

“You can inhale now. Easy does it, just a little bit—”

 

 

And fuck. Kihyun apparently doesn’t know how to gauge what _a little bit_ means. He’s choking, all of a sudden, hastily removes the cigarette from his lips and starts coughing. And then promptly falls on his ass and into the muddy grass behind him.

 

 

“Oh _shit,_ ” Minhyuk almost shrieks, rushing up to Kihyun’s side. “Dude. Dude, what the fuck.”

 

 

“I’m–” Kihyun is coughing still, “I’m fine.” Another cough. Followed by another.

 

 

Jooheon groans. “I said inhale a _little,_ Kihyun.”

 

 

Kihyun coughs a little more until he can talk coherently. “I _did,_ ” he hisses, “But the stupid fucking smoke, I didn’t know _how_ much and–and stop standing there and get me the fuck up, Minhyuk.”

 

 

Minhyuk springs into action and tugs up Kihyun by the arm. The initial shock passes and he’s on the verge of snorting with mirth. “That was _the_ lamest you’ve ever been, Kihyun. Perfect, amazing, showstopping–”

 

 

“Shut. Up.” Kihyun is back on his feet and his face might be burning, just a little, so he busies himself with putting out the cigarette and examining the damage to his clothes. And, well, _yikes_. The back of Minhyuk’s hoodie and the seat of his jeans are splattered with mud. Kihyun sighs in exasperation and looks at Minhyuk apologetically—as apologetic as he can be toward who might be the most annoying guy Kihyun has ever met. “Your hoodie. I, um, sort of ruined it?”

 

 

“...Oh.” Minhyuk gives the mess that is Kihyun a once-over. “It’s fine with me!”

 

 

“It is?”

 

 

“It is,” Minhyuk confirms. “Because that’s not my hoodie. It’s Wonho’s!”

 

 

Kihyun starts for a second, and then groans in defeat because _of course._ Does Minhyuk even own any of his own clothes? “Why did you have Wonho’s hoodie, why did you _give_ me Wonho’s hoodie?”

 

 

“I borrowed it yesterday and forgot to give it back,” Minhyuk explains. “And I had it in my bag, so why not? Your shrimp ass was about to freeze off.”

 

 

“Don’t call me _shrimp._ So I basically ruined Wonho’s hoodie when we’re barely friends and you had it hostage? Great.”

 

 

“Wonho’s chill, Kihyun. He won’t mind, if you just wash it.” Minhyuk urges.

 

 

“But Wonho only wears, like, the most ridiculously priced clothing and I’m pretty sure that hoodie is worth 200,000 won. At least. You’re fucked,” Jooheon informs Kihyun with a shake of the head.

 

 

“Wonho’s _chill_ , Jooheon,” Minhyuk repeats. “He won’t do that. Remember that time I wore his shirt to one of Sojung’s parties and then accidentally tore it down the middle? He didn’t mind!”

 

 

Jooheon blinks at him. “Sometimes I think you live in a whole other world, Minhyuk. He was about to either choke you or cry. And I’m pretty sure he did cry at some point at that party.”

 

 

Minhyuk ignores that. “Anyways, Kihyun, my absolute lamest friend, wash it and return it to Wonho, you still have like—” He checks his phone. “—forty minutes before curfew?”

 

 

“Lamest? I can still report you for the soju, you know,” Kihyun threatens.

 

 

“My least lame friend,” Minhyuk corrects quickly. “My least lame friend who definitely didn’t fall on his ass and colossally embarrass himself in front of two of his friends who will never ever speak of this incident. That didn’t happen.”

 

 

Kihyun is eternally glad, all of a sudden, that he let Minhyuk, Wonho, and Changkyun drink last night Nothing is more comforting than blackmail and the ability to manipulate his friends.

 

 

He’s even almost numb to the lingering embarrassment of choking and falling rather ungracefully into mud, as he heads back to the hotel as fast as he can.

 

 

 

\--------------

 

 

 

It’s dark outside when Wonho trudges back to the room, infected with an exhausted sort of euphoria. Dark, and also raining, which puts a damper on the plans for a class bonfire later that night. Their teacher informs them of this as the students trickled through the lobby—Wonho is disappointed, but not enough to complain because _honestly,_ he’s tired, so tired. He might have overdone it with the swimming. Maybe. It was worth it, but also all he wants right now is a long, hot shower.

 

 

He hears what he thinks is Kihyun in the bathroom as he enters the room and promptly collapses on a bed. It might be Kihyun’s bed, he notices belatedly, but it feels too nice to expend any effort to get up.

 

 

Wonho has only seen small glimpses of Kihyun from afar all day, he thinks as his eyes close. Which is to be expected, because Kihyun is usually off doing class president-like things and being in charge and important.

 

 

There’s a part of him that thinks it would’ve been nice to hang out with Kihyun today. Would’ve been fun to mess around down at the beach together, then head back to town and scarf down sashimi or stew or both, then huddle for warmth in the cold while walking around, checking out the sights, talking about anything and everything. Kihyun would be good at that, he knows now, or rather, they would be good together, just like last night.

 

 

Wonho has to reel in his imagination there, because it’s wading into dangerous waters, waters with dates and hand-holding and small, blossoming crushes floating about. Wonho _shouldn’t_ be thinking about Kihyun in those terms—he’s had all of one legitimate conversation with him, and he also has the rather unfortunate tendency of falling all too hard, way too fast.

 

 

But Wonho also really, _really_ can’t stop the nagging interest in Kihyun that seems to have taken over his being in the last twenty-four hours.

 

 

He reluctantly sits up and opens his eyes when he hears a knob turning and a door being pulled open. Kihyun steps out of the bathroom, still toweling off his hair, and looks at Wonho with a small smile. “Oh, hey. You’re here.”

 

 

“Yeah,” Wonho replies a little dumbly. Dumbly, because Kihyun folds the towel and places it on the chair in front of the dresser, then leans over to smooth down his hair as he peers into the mirror. And Wonho realizes that Kihyun is wearing a sleeveless white shirt that exposes a smooth expanse of upper arm, muscles softly defined, making Wonho’s brain sputter to a stop.

 

 

Kihyun turns around to face him then, and Wonho’s brain decides to remain resolutely still, because the shirt also happens to have a low-hanging collar, and Wonho can see the pretty curve of Kihyun’s collarbone and the way Kihyun’s fingers scratch at the base of his throat. That Wonho can’t stop staring at, because Kihyun happens to have a fascinatingly delicate neck, he realizes now. Wonho is in the process of realizing a lot of things.

 

 

It’s all a little ridiculous, he knows, as his gaze trails up to Kihyun’s face. That his breath hitches now at Kihyun’s pretty lips, the shape of his eyes, the way his eyebrows furrow and his forehead is distorted into worried wrinkles. And the softness of his brown hair, the softness that Kihyun’s hand is now smoothing down. Wonho is being very ridiculous, with this sudden infatuation.

 

 

“Wonho?”

 

 

It takes him a couple of seconds of slow blinking to realize Kihyun has spoken. “Oh. _Oh._ Sorry.” Wonho had been staring without an ounce of subtlety, he realizes.

 

 

“Are you… okay?” Kihyun questions, confused—a puzzled frown on his face, Wonho tries really hard not to note, very _pretty_ face.

 

 

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just tired.” It’s a lame excuse, but it’s better than the acutely embarrassing grade-school feelings that cloud Wonho’s mind at the moment. “Oh,” he adds as he suddenly remembers, “also. The bonfire was cancelled ‘cause of the rain. Kang was telling us downstairs, but I think you came in early?”

 

 

Kihyun shifts a little at that, Wonho notices. “Yeah? Thanks, that’s a bummer, I guess. Um. Speaking of coming in early, there was, well…” He trails off, hand at his neck again, a little nervous. “Well, you see. I sort of borrowed a hoodie from Minhyuk because it was cold, and then, er, an accident happened and the hoodie got a bit—a lot—of mud on it? And then it turned out that Minhyuk’s hoodie wasn’t really his hoodie. It was actually, um, yours?”

 

 

Wonho follows Kihyun’s gaze toward the rack that he has failed to notice in front of the balcony doors. On it, sure enough, is a familiar black hoodie. “I’m sorry,” Kihyun says, and laughs lightly. “I washed it and dried it as best as I could with the hair dryer and it wasn’t _that_ much mud, really, it’s as good as new once it’s fully dry.”

 

 

Wonho isn’t angry, not really—not as much as he would be if it was Minhyuk who had soiled his hoodie. But Minhyuk also wouldn’t have gone through this effort to clean the hoodie, wouldn’t have appeared so anxiously apologetic in front of Wonho. It really doesn’t have _that_ much to do with the way his heart skips a beat at Kihyun’s bite of his lip when Wonho laughs and replies, “It’s fine, Kihyun. I really don’t mind, thanks for washing it.”

 

 

(But, Wonho thinks in the shower, it might have a little more to do with the latter than he’d like to admit. And Wonho might be a little fucked, with this ridiculous fascination taking hold of him, seemingly out of nowhere.)

 

 

\---

 

 

When Wonho leaves the bathroom, he stumbles over to the nearest bed and drops onto it yet again. Except this time, he feels something pressed against his head, and—

 

 

“Ah.” He lifts himself up a bit by the elbows to see Kihyun seated on his right, staring at Wonho with a cocked eyebrow. “Sorry,” Wonho says and pats Kihyun’s left leg, which he had bumped against. “But,” he adds, sinking back into the heavenly softness of the cotton sheets, “Just let me stay here for a little. Please? I’m so tired, I don’t think I can get up at _all_.” He ends on a dramatic note, peering up at Kihyun with the slightest of pouts.

 

 

“Wonho, your bed is literally three feet away,” Kihyun groans.

 

 

“Just a couple of minutes?”

 

 

“Five,” Kihyun decides, giving him a stern look before turning back to fiddle with the phone in his hand.

 

 

 

 

Wonho stays a lot longer than five minutes. He doesn’t close his eyes this time, either, because Kihyun is there, a few inches away from him, and watching him seems like a much better occupation. His face, the way his lips part slightly as he concentrates, the way the artificial glow of his phone screen highlights the contours of his face in a mesmerizing glow.

 

 

“Stop staring,” Kihyun says after a stretch. Then turns to Wonho, mimics him by burrowing himself further in the multitudes of pillows on Kihyun’s bed, half-upright. “What is it?”

 

 

Wonho doesn’t know how to answer that, so he points to Kihyun’s phone instead. “What are you up to?”

 

 

And then they talk, late into the night, all promise of Wonho’s return to his own bed forgotten. About whatever is on Kihyun’s Instagram feed, then about their friends, Minhyuk, Jooheon, the rest of the lot, laughing, probably too often than the conversation actually requires. Then Kihyun decides to go through Wonho’s Instagram account—“It’s only fair, since you stalked mine last night,” he says—and they peruse that for a while. Wonho thinks it’s infinitely cute how invested Kihyun is in understanding each post, even though each effort ends in accusations of _hipsterness._

 

 

“What about _this_ one?” Kihyun shifts his phone over so Wonho can see. It’s a piece Wonho did last fall, messing around with some different ink.

 

 

“Well, that’s the girl’s face,” Wonho explains. “And see, the way it smears back from the skull, into that twisted demon in the background, it’s supposed to represent inner turmoil. Anguish? Her face is sort of grim, exhausted, no overbearing emotion. But the one behind, it’s angry, laughing, shocked, scared, all at once—it’s supposed to be ugly,” he adds, “Because that intensity, those tangled emotions are. It’s all under the surface.”

 

 

“Ahh.” Kihyun nods slowly, face distorted in concentration, and _god—_ Wonho can’t help how endearing that is, how much he might, just might, want to kiss that frown away. “So even though there’s a sort of mask of calm, the anguish is–brimming under the surface?”

 

 

“Mhm.”

 

“And I guess this is some sort of social commentary, too,” Kihyun presses on. “Modern life? That causes this ennui, and numbs emotions. But they’re not really gone, just trapped inside, twisted and unhealthy.”

 

 

“Something like that,” Wonho agrees. There’s a warm glow inside him, one that eats away at his tiredness, at Kihyun’s words, his effort and his understanding. “What? Not going to call me hipster this time?”

 

 

“No,” Kihyun responds, and tears his eyes away from the phone to look at Wonho with a sincerity that pierces through his heart. “This was nice, Wonho. Really. Not like those text posts edited onto a hipster background. The style, too. You should do more of it, that art.”

 

 

“Should I,” Wonho responds, half question and half statement. “You should do more of that photography too, Yoo Kihyun.”

 

 

“Yeah?” Kihyun laughs, then turns his head to gaze at the ceiling, pensively.  “Maybe I should.”

 

 

 

 

“I was sad that we couldn’t do the bonfire.” It’s still raining outside, even though it’s well past one a.m., as the digital clock on the nightstand tells Wonho. “But, this was fun. A lot better actually.” Wonho thinks his jaw aches a little from talking too much, and his mouth has run dry, but he feels this drowsy, relaxed sort of happiness he hasn’t felt in a while. Happiness might not be the right word for it, because it’s more like the same heady feeling from last night, in his chest, making him feel lightheaded and even a little tipsy and warming him down to his toes. It’s all because of Kihyun, he knows, this easy rapport and resonating conversation that is objectively too—too _deep_ , too comfortable to only be their second legitimate one. And god, Wonho can’t stop staring at Kihyun, either, watching him, drinking him in. It’s late, and Wonho’s brain isn’t working properly, probably, but he feels enchanted. Kihyun is… magnetic. Potent, for Wonho.

 

 

“Mm,” Kihyun hums in response, eyelids drooping under the weight of sleepiness. “Honestly? I think so too.”

 

 

Wonho laughs. “Can you believe we’ve pretty much known each other for, what, one night, a day, and then another night? It just… it just feels like, so much more, you know? Like I’ve known you for longer. Like I _should’ve_ known you for longer, all these years of being classmates.”

 

 

Kihyun stares at him for a couple of seconds, and there’s something in his eyes that Wonho can’t really decipher. And then he snickers. “Oh god. That’s so cheesy,” he murmurs.

 

 

Wonho groans. “Shut up, Kihyun. Don’t ruin the moment.”

 

 

Kihyun shuffles a little closer to Wonho, leaning in to emphasize: “It’s so cheesy, so _you_.” But there’s no malice in his voice, just some light teasing entwined with—with a sort of admiration, affection.

 

 

Wonho is suddenly hyperaware of the distance—or rather, lack of it—between his face and Kihyun’s. Only a meager couple of inches, enough to easily close the gap. He’s also aware of the way Kihyun’s eyes shine, the way the skin around them crinkles as he grins, carefree, at Wonho. And it’s entirely due to Kihyun-induced tipsiness when Wonho pauses, then whispers, “But you, you like it, don’t you.”

 

 

And then: “Can I kiss you?”

 

 

Maybe it’s motivated by sleepiness when Kihyun nods after a long, hesitant pause.

 

 

Or maybe, Wonho thinks as he leans in and Kihyun’s eyes flutter closed easily, it’s because of that affection, the way Kihyun looks at Wonho, the reason he laughs so easily with him. But it doesn’t really matter now, because Wonho is kissing Kihyun’s soft lips, and Kihyun is kissing him back. And then Wonho’s hand slips behind Kihyun’s neck, pulls him closer to kiss him better, harder. Wonho might lose a significant amount of brain cells, with the way his mind short-circuits when Kihyun’s hand drifts toward his chest and fists lightly into the fabric of his shirt. But it doesn’t matter, because _he’s kissing Kihyun_ , and it’s so good, so, so good. If Wonho was tipsy on Kihyun before, he’s certainly fully drunk now.

 

 

It’s over all too soon. Wonho leans away, reluctantly, but it feels right to leave it at that: sweet, with a hint of something more.

 

 

Kihyun is panting lightly as he remains rooted to the spot, staring at Wonho. Wonho realizes, suddenly, the gravity of what he did, acting rashly in the heat of the moment. And the ramifications of his action run through his head—how awkward it might be, how Wonho might have ruined a newly budding, overdue friendship by moving all too fast. But the anxiety doesn’t bubble up, because none of that rings true—it felt good. For the moment, and for both of them.

 

 

“Do you regret that?” Wonho asks Kihyun, who seems to be jolted out of a trance at his words.

 

 

Kihyun pauses, then shakes his head. “No,” he says slowly, “no, I don’t, actually.”

 

 

Wonho knows he probably looks like an idiot, but he can’t help the stupid grin that spreads across his face.

 

 

“I mean,” Kihyun exhales softly, then leans back against the pillows, hand running through his hair. “I probably should, right? We barely talked for three years, talked a hell of a lot for two nights, and now you’re kissing me. On our senior trip. When graduation is right around the corner. It should be weird. Ridiculous. It should feel like too much, but it doesn’t.” He pauses. “It feels right, I guess. Stop smiling like that, you cheesy asshole.”

 

 

It feels right. Those words ring in Wonho’s ears. “I’ll keep smiling like that, because I think so, too, really.”

 

 

“You do,” Kihyun repeats. “Ah. Well. It might feel right, but who knows if we’ll ever see each other again. Missed timings, like those cliche emo quotes you like.”

 

 

“It doesn’t have to be,” Wonho argues. “We’ll both be in Seoul, you know? We can keep up—be friends. And more,” he adds.

 

 

“You’re promising something that even long-term best friends don’t do to a guy you got to know over the course of a senior trip?”

 

 

“But,” Wonho reaches over to touch Kihyun’s face on impulse, “But you’re special, Kihyun.”

 

 

Kihyun laughs. “Cheesy.”

 

 

“But you, you like that, don’t you,” Wonho repeats, smiling stupidly again.

 

 

Kihyun is silent. And then: “Well, I guess we can try?”

 

 

Wonho’s smile turns into a stupider grin. “I can make sure you keep up with your photography.”

 

 

“Yeah? Then I’ll force you to keep making art, political science be damned,” Kihyun threatens.

 

 

“Challenge accepted.”

 

 

And then Kihyun is laughing again, for no particular reason, and Wonho joins in. This, whatever there is between them, is—unexpected, high speed, rash and impulsive. But so good, Wonho thinks as he pulls Kihyun in for another kiss later, sometime around two a.m., when they both _definitely_ should be sleeping, so, so good.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> well i had no idea what i was doing with this so there's that
> 
> i didn't want to read over to edit so apologies for all the errors! and the cheesiness


End file.
